


One for the Money

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Emotionally stunted Skeletons attempt to have feelings, M/M, Prostitution, Sugar Baby Cash, surface AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 07:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17638034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: Cash is selling his companionship (but not his body, thank you very much) to make his way on the surface. Twist worries about him as aggressively as he can without overstepping any boundaries. Cash doesn't hate this as much as he should.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Twistfell Papyrus belongs to [Lady Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kit). I just borrow him because I adore lovable idiots.
> 
> This ended up being a two part exploration of an idea that I may dabble in again in the future.

The ink on the small piece of paper Blackberry had given him had smeared in the rain, blurring his brother’s rounded font, but at least three of the distorted letters seem to match the sign in front of Twist so he guessed he’d found the right place. He tried his best winning grin on the bouncer at the door, getting only a solemn nod in reply, but she didn’t move to stop him from passing. From her scarred, muscular stature, she’d probably been a former royal guard in one of the Fell-verses, and he really didn’t want her taking exception to his worn jeans and well-patched jacket. Her presence was a good sign, though; his brother had promised this bar was monster friendly, but just a little more upscale than the usual dives Twist himself preferred to patron. 

The bonus in his last paycheck had been unexpected -- apparently his Boss had been pleased to see him resurrect the last wreck that had been towed to their shop. Most of the other mechanics had dismissed it as a lost cause. Twist had just seen a poor old lady in need of some attention, and their surprised and relieved client had been effusive in their gratitude. Apparently the act hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

He’d tried to give the bonus to his brother, who managed their shared finances, but Blackberry hadn’t accepted a bit of it. He’d wanted Twist to do something special for himself for a change, although the little slip of paper was probably his brother’s way of guiding that choice into something a bit less extreme than Twist’s last few nights out on the town. No more street racing or illegal rave parties, Blackberry had said plaintively. I’d rather not have to pick you up from the police station again. How about you go out for some nice drinks?

The suggestion had sounded good at the time, although now that he was here Twist was starting to get the feeling that this place was a little too nice for someone like him. Past the bouncer was a posh looking entryway where a well-meaning attendant tried to take his dripping coat. Twist waved them off with an easy grin that expertly hid any signs of strain. The part of him that would never cease being gutter-trash felt out of place in such a swanky establishment, and if someone tried to kick him out he didn’t want to leave his jacket behind. He liked this one; it was a gift from Red, embroidered with lightning-like stitching around the hem of the hood, arcing across the shoulders and cascading down the sleeves. It made him look like a badass, but the leather was comfortable and soft, easy to move in. It didn’t hurt that it added a few points to his defence just in case. It hadn’t escaped Twist’s notice that each of the Papyruses had received something similar, though Red had tried to dress each one up and individualise them a little to make it less obvious. 

Trying not to feel sheepish about the trail of water he was leaving on the polished floors, Twist strode past the attendant and through the door that marked the proper entrance to the bar itself. The ambience was utterly different from what he was used to. The lights were bright and direct instead of dim and hazy. They reminded him of showroom lights, casting a clean illumination across the contemporary couches and small, stylish tables. The place didn’t even smell like a bar, no clouding smoke or salt of unwashed bodies and greasy food, just a soft, appealing floral scent that reminded Twist bizarrely of the softener Blackberry used on their laundry. 

The room was so perfect and pristine, his presence felt like an unwelcome stain. He was preparing to make a run for it -- just a cool and casual heel turn, like he’d accidentally forgotten something back in the cloakroom -- when he felt someone coming up behind him. 

“Hey, handsome,” a voice cooed softly. Their footsteps clicked deliberately, heels on the marble floor, so at least they knew well enough not to creep up on a visitor. When Twist tensed but didn’t startle, a light hand stroked playfully up his spine before coming to rest on his shoulder. “Are you alone tonight? If you’re looking for some company, I’d be happy to-”

Twist turned as they leaned against him, dislodging the hood of his jacket as they invaded his personal space, and it was hard to tell which of them was more stunned. Twist hadn’t even recognised Cash’s voice, uncharacteristically pitched to be sweet and smooth and enticing. He’d never heard the other skeleton speak in anything other than a low, irritated grumble, with a husk even more pronounced than Stretch’s from too many cigarettes and sleepless nights. He opened his mouth, but for a few long seconds, words completely escaped him. Cash’s face was probably an eerie mirror of his own, given their uncanny resemblance, but swiftly enough the shock melted away to be replaced by much more familiar aggravation. 

“Fuck,” Cash breathed succinctly, neatly summing up Twist’s own thoughts, albeit for quite different reasons, because when he managed to shift his attention from the consternation on Cash’s face to take in the rest of him, he realised it wasn’t just Cash’s tone that was out of the ordinary.

Cash was wearing a Dress, fully worthy of both the emphasis and the capital letter. It was floor length with a high mandarin collar, but there was nothing even remotely demure about the way purple silk clung delightfully to his ribs or the nearly obscene slit up the skirt that nearly reached his hipbone. The whole look gave the unexpected impression of softness and femininity.

That softness was definitely nothing more than an illusion, however. Cash’s gaze narrowed (Twist couldn’t help but notice his socket had been rimmed with gold paint, contrasting against the deep purple of his dress. The other was covered in an ornate patch that made it seem like a luscious flower was blooming out of his skull His teeth bared in a sneer. “Stop staring, shithead. What the fuck are you doing here?”

It was so dissonant, hearing such harsh, familiar words coming from such a pretty, unfamiliar face, that Twist couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. He quickly let it taper off as Cash’s expression darkened further, trying instead for a disarming smile. “Hey Sweetheart. I could ask you the same question.”

Cash scowled further. He’d never appreciated Twist’s habit of overly familiar nicknames, but now he bristled as if it had been a deliberate barb. “I’m working. Get out.”

That said, Cash turned abruptly on his heel (very nice heels, Twist noted, wrapped with ivy-like straps around delicate looking carples) and stomped away (with an unintentional sashay of his hips that drew Twist’s gaze like a magnet. Holy fuck, who would even guess that Cash’s hips could move like that).

Naturally, Twist was undeterred, following after Cash as closely as he dared. “Aww, don’t be like that, precious. I just got here. Was gonna have a few drinks and unwind for a while. How about we drink together?”

“No,” Cash bit out. He turned around, and Twist paused, wondering if he might need to duck away from an irritated smack, but Cash only adjusted his skirt and sat down at a table he must have claimed beforehand. It was next to the wall, with a good view of the rest of the room, and there was a half-full glass and an ashtray with a few crushed butts. Twist immediately claimed the second seat, ignoring Cash’s outraged glare.

“It sounded like you were looking for company just before,” Twist wheedled. Remembering the short exchange, he gave a dopey grin. “You called me ‘handsome’.”

“Before I saw your stupid face,” Cash groused, fingers clenching in a way Twist easily recognised. Predictably, Cash reached for the slim silver case he used to house his cigarettes, but instead of putting it to his teeth and lighting up immediately, he fitted it to a long, slender holder. The first puff of smoke calmed him marginally, but he still gripped it like he was thinking of stabbing Twist with it. “I only drink with paying customers.”

It took great effort for Twist to keep his smile from slipping. He held his gaze on Cash steady, but there was something acid-sharp rising behind his teeth. “Is that the kind of work you do, sweetheart?”

There weren’t too many other professions that entailed picking up clients from bars, even if it was a very nice bar. Twist had no problem with prostitution -- most whores were good people doing a much-valued and appreciated service -- but if Cash felt like he had to do it because there was no other option, Twist was going to bundle him up and take him home and no amount of bitching or snarling would convince him otherwise. 

A hint of his intention must have crossed his face, because Cash hissed at him warningly. “I said I drink with paying customers. I don’t fuck them. Not unless I want to. Fuck off, Twisted, I’m not some helpless waif in need of rescuing.”

“That so?” Twist mused, tension he hadn’t even noticed uncoiling from his bones. “Well that’s fine then.”

Cash eyed him suspiciously, but Twist countered it with a placid smile. “So if that’s the case, there shouldn't be any problem drinking with me if I pay, right?”

“You can’t afford me,” Cash said scornfully, flicking ash off into the ashtray. The smoke from his cigarette was light and spicy. He’d always had a preference for the finer things, and now Twist was getting some idea of how he managed to sustain his luxurious habits without seeming to hold a regular job or having a brother to support him like their other alternates.

Twist had his bonus burning a hole in his pocket, waiting to be spent. He felt confident in asking, “How much?”

Cash eyed him up and down, a new, speculative gleam in his eyelight. After a moment of consideration, he said, “Two thousand gold an hour.”

Twist winced, slightly aghast as he tried to make the calculation between human currency and monster gold. He always carried a little of the latter around (sometimes gold was a more alluring bribe to get people to look the other way than paper notes), but not that much; that kind of dough was liable to get you mugged in a back alley. Scrounging through his pockets turned up a fistful of coins, a scrunched handful of human currency, a sugar-free lollipop from Stretch and couple of old receipts. He spread everything out over the table, desolately tallying his fund. “Erm. Berry and I already converted most of our gold, so I don’t got much left, but…”

Cash leaned forward, eyelight sparkling with unveiled hunger. He batted Twist’s rough hands away, gathering up the coins with practiced flicks of his phalanges, one at a time as he counted them. The notes went next, deftly stacked in a neat pile before vanishing somehow into the folds of Cash’s skirt. He even took the lollipops, although the receipts were discarded with a disdainful sniff. “You get fifteen minutes. Don’t waste them. If you start a lecture or try to play at happy families with me again, I’m getting the bouncer to kick you out.”

“Sure thing, precious,” Twist agreed, unexpectedly relieved despite the provisions. He was used to that, at least. Cash had always been the most reclusive member of their mismatched skeleton brood. He remained aloof, only rarely allowing himself to be lured over for their regular gatherings, his grudging presence only permitted if someone offered a suitable bribe. It was hard not to worry for him, alone and brother-less out in the big, dangerous surface world, but all of them knew even a whiff of concern or pity would drive Cash away, so they all feigned nonchalance about his situation, or tried not to acknowledge it at all. 

(The jacket Red had so painstakingly crafted for Cash -- the base a proper designer brand that Red had spent a month’s paycheck on before embellishing with shards of obsidian and buttons of gold -- had ended up in the Swap brother’s trash can. Twist had salvaged it before anyone else could find it there, and hidden it away. No one, especially not Red himself, had to know.)

At least now he had some idea of what Cash was hiding from them. None of the Sanses would have been happy about Cash selling himself, even if it was only his time and his company. Edge would be biting down just as hard on his protective instincts as Twist was. Razz would be scornful. Slim would be upset. Stretch would feign indifference, but he fell into anxious, self-destructive habits when he was worrying about something. 

“Well?” Cash snapped. “What do you want?”

He fidgeted impatiently, one long leg crossed primly over the other. The teasing flash of femur probably wasn’t for Twist’s benefit, but he couldn’t help admiring it all the same. It wasn’t the dress itself that turned his head -- Cash wasn’t the first among them to experiment with his clothing choices -- but how different he looked in it. Gone was the carefully cultivated dishevelment, the artful rips and tears, the bulky, formidable coats to give the pretense of bulk. Cash looked elegant. Delicate. Porcelain perfect, and infinitely appealing. It wasn’t hard to see how people might pay just for the opportunity to stare at him across the table. 

“Just to talk, darlin,” Twist told him earnestly, signalling the bartender to bring him a drink. This wasn’t quite how he’d expected to spend his evening, but damned if he wasn’t going to make the most of his fifteen minutes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a ficlet written for Papcestmass. Anon gave me this prompt: May I request something related to that one drabble of yours a while ago, where Cash works a courtesan and had been emotionally avoiding Twist?
> 
> ;D It gave me a good excuse to revisit these two idiots. I really love their dynamic.

“Hey,” the bartender said, tapping the base of Cash’s martini glass to get his attention. His mouth was pulled in a wide, shit-eating grin. “Your boyfriend’s back.”

Cash risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Twist speaking animatedly with the Hostess at the door. He caught Cash’s eye and waved eagerly, like an over-friendly stray dog who hadn’t realised its smelly, slobbery presence was unwelcome.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Cash breathed into his glass. Unfortunately it was empty, denying him a chance to toss back the final bitter dregs in an attempt to steel himself. He shoved it across the counter, scowling. “He’s not my fucking boyfriend. He’s just the shithead that’s going to be paying for my drinks for the rest of the night. Start a tab and top me up.”

The bartender’s leer didn’t diminish any, though he accommodatingly took the glass and began mixing a fresh drink. “Dunno, I’ve never seen you hold out on someone like you do with him. What, you saving it for marriage or somethin’? Gonna let him court you all good and proper?”

Cash gave a visible shudder, pulling a face. “God no. Imagine waking up to that face every day.”

The bartender arched an unconvinced brow, looking over at Twist with a very frank, assessing stare. Cash glared sullenly at the bartop, unwilling to retract his statement. Irritatingly not even the ruinous cracks in Twist’s socket really detracted from the handsome appeal of his high cheekbones and strong jawline, but Cash tried to convince himself that noticing those features was just narcissistic appreciation. They had very similar bone-structure, after all, although their statures were quite different. Twist was much broader through the shoulders, his limbs thicker, stronger, but gentled by his generous and affectionate body language and-

Just fuck him and everything about him, Cash thought sourly, cutting off the distressingly familiar and wholly unwelcome chain of thought. 

“You could just fuck him,” the bartender suggested nonchalantly, inadvertently echoing Cash’s thoughts with an entirely different insinuation. “Let him get you out of his system.”

Cash’s sockets narrowed dangerously. “I’m not here to fuck our customers.”

“Didn’t say you were,” the bartender replied amiably. “Not that that’s ever stopped you before.”

Before Cash could get too indignant about that jab -- his body was his own business, thank you very fucking much -- the bartender blithely continued on, “But I ain’t sure he’s just a customer for you.”

Cash made a derisive sound, not at all interested in entertaining that line of thought or the conversation. Thankfully his drink was ready, giving him an excuse to stay quiet before he ended up saying something he’d regret. He was on pretty good terms with most of the bartenders -- he helped their business and visa versa. Pissing off the guy on Friday night’s roster would put a pretty big dent in his weekly income.

He tossed the martini back in a deep, desperate gulp -- too fast, his instincts warned, but if Twist was paying then oh Cash was gonna take advantage -- when he felt that warm, solid presence come up behind him. Tonight his dress was a deep shade of plum, and backless. His spine prickled with the brush of Twist’s ambient magic against his bones.

“Hey there, precious. You miss me?”

He hated (and loved) that little sincere lilt in Twist’s voice, like the other skeleton was hoping against all odds that Cash would say yes.

But like hell he ever would. He answered with a snort, putting his empty glass back down and gesturing at the bartender to refill it again. “I started without you. How much did you bring this time?”

Twist sat down beside him and obligingly began emptying out his pockets, not at all deterred by Cash’s caustic attitude. Cash couldn’t possibly make it any more obvious how little he cared for Twist’s company, how he was just exploiting him for exorbitant sums, but either Twist was significantly more dense than Cash gave him credit for, or he just really didn’t mind. Either scenario was, frankly, inconceivable to Cash. Surely no one could be that stupid. 

But without any sign of resentment or uncertainty, Twist patted himself down and managed to produce a varied assortment of currencies and curios across the countertop. It was always somewhat amusing to watch him do it. Like every decent fell-monster, he didn’t keep all his valuables in one place since that would make them too easy to steal. Instead, he delved into nearly a dozen different pockets, each carefully sequestered on his person to prevent pickpocketing. The process of unearthing it all was part awkward-dance, part strip-tease since some of his chosen places were in the nooks and crannies provided by his bones; places only a skeleton could take advantage of. Cash did his best to keep his gaze averted, deliberately occupying himself with his freshly refilled glass.

(He didn’t let himself dwell on the fact that Twist was showing him all his hiding places, like it didn’t bother him at all that Cash knew.)

Most of his customers paid him in the humans’ paper currency, though some monsters still paid in gold. Twist always paid in a magpie’s collection of shiny trinkets. There was enough identifiable money to assure that he wasn’t undervaluing Cash’s time, but amongst his offerings today was a smattering of coins in more foreign currencies, a bracelet of small and perfect pearls, a fountain pen whose body was delicately carved from amethyst, a keychain that looked like it doubled as a bottle opener, and half a packet of cough drops.

After the second time Twist had come back, bright-eyed and earnest about buying Cash’s time, Cash had wondered if the haphazard payments were some underhanded attempt to rip him off -- Cash didn’t know what the exact valuation of an antique pocket watch or a copy of Mettaton’s signature -- but a couple of times he’d caught Twist staring at him with that ridiculous, smitten expression while watching Cash admiring the facets of a small emerald or the delicate rivets on the edge of a silver coin. He was starting to wonder if Twist did it intentionally, just to see Cash’s brief but unbridled fascination. 

(Surely he didn’t know that Cash kept all of those offerings, squirrelling them away in his apartment. Money was more useful, more versatile, but much like the value of a favour, the value of something sentimental was often more than a pawnshop would pay for it. The trinkets somehow made Cash feel richer, with the weight of Twist’s devotion somehow wrought into the weight of the jewellery and trinkets he bought for Cash’s approval.

It didn’t mean anything, though. Just because Cash appreciated a shiny bauble didn’t mean he wanted anything from Twist except drinks and the ability to pay his rent.)

He didn’t even know why Twist had the cough drops. Skeletons didn’t even have throats to be inflamed by sickness. That didn’t stop him from pocketing them anyway, along with the rest of Twist’s offering. He scooped it all into his inventory since his dress didn’t have the same surplus of pockets that Twist’s clothing did.

“Fine,” he said grudgingly, signalling for the bartender to get Twist a drink as well in acceptance of the bargain. “You get three hours.”

“Did your prices go up again, Sweetheart?” Twist asked mildly, but he didn’t look either offended or disappointed. He accepted his beer without even checking it, making Cash wish he’d asked the bartender to water it down. 

“Don’t you think I’m worth it?” Cash asked, leaning aggressively into Twist’s space, but his attempt to fluster the other skeleton utterly missed the mark. Twist just gave him a look, soft and a little sad.

“‘Course you are, darlin’. Worth every penny.”

Cash blinked, unprepared for the sudden heated flush that worked its way up his cervical vertebrae, coloring his cheekbones. He was pretty sure he heard the bartender snickering quietly and aggravation only made his embarrassment burn hotter. 

He sat back, his jaw working soundlessly for several long seconds before he scooped up his drink. Twist watched bemusedly as Cash sculled it down inelegantly, savagely wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then determinedly grabbing hold of Twist’s wrist. “Come with me.”

“Sure,” Twist agreed, unresisting as Cash dragged him towards the exit. He only flexed his forearm, his carples slipping through Cash’s hold until they were holding hands instead. Cash pretended not to notice but made sure to flip off the bartender over his shoulder as he stormed out, glaring at the Hostess when she didn’t quite manage to hide the small smile on her lips. 

It was an upscale neighbourhood, so Cash wasn’t bothered about walking in the brightly lit streets after dark, but he didn’t plan to go far. There was a hotel right next door. The receptionist already knew his face and preferences. They handed him a key without a word and pointedly didn’t make any acknowledgement of Twist’s presence.

Only when they were halfway down the hallway did he feel himself pulled up short by Twist’s sudden reluctance to move forward. The grip of his fingers was somehow excruciatingly gentle even though he held Cash in place. “Hang on, precious, where are we going?”

There wasn’t any signage in the lobby to signal its services. It was the kind of place one learned about only by word of mouth, but the long corridor of identical, numbered doors must have given Twist a clue. Cash looked over his shoulder at a coquettish angle, slipping on the mask of an enticing smile. “Let me show you.”

Only Twist’s willingness allowed Cash to pull him into the room. He seemed more cautious now, not upset, but wary. Monsters with LOVE tended to be more on edge than those without, or the humans Cash sometimes chose to entertain. The unspoken acknowledgement that Twist could be dangerous was tempered by the thrilling certainty that Cash knew exactly how to handle him. 

Taking a few steps forward -- giving Twist a moment to size up the room for threats before his attention turned back solely on Cash -- Cash reached up to his throat and pulled free the ribbon that held up the top part of his dress.

“Whoa!” Twist’s back hit the door with a thump. His expression was hilariously stupefied. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not that stupid,” Cash scoffed. The bodice of the dress slipped downward, its silky fabric slinking down his ribs like melting chocolate. It caught at his hips, leaving the skirt in place, but the generous slits up each thigh would ensure it didn’t get in the way. He briefly thought of kicking his heels off, but he rather liked the additional height they gave him. It meant he could look Twist in the eye when he pinned him back against the door. “I don’t give out free shows, so I got us some privacy.”

“I…” Twist’s hands ghosted along Cash’s sides like he’d instinctively reached out to touch before remembering that he shouldn’t. Cash caught his fingers and put them deliberately on his now bare ribs. The touch of bone on bone made him shiver a little. His usual bedmates were generally softer and warmer that Twist. It was a strange sensation, but not unwelcome. Twist stared at his hands like they didn’t belong to him. “I wasn’t trying to pay you for-”

“I already told you, I don’t take money for that,” Cash snapped. He thrust his knee insistently between Twist’s legs, pressing the crux of his hip into the other skeleton’s pubic arch. Despite Twist’s protests, he could feel heat gathering there beneath his clothes. “This is what I want.”

Twist’s expression flickered like a faulty tv before settling on a tentative, hopeful (idiotic, irritating, endearing) grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cash echoed, because it was true. It was better this way, letting Twist get his fill and dissolve the tension that had been growing between them (let him see that Cash was nothing special, certainly nothing worth coming back for over and over again). Cash knew how to keep his clients on the hook, keeping them fascinated with the lure of what they couldn’t have. Once they were satisfied, they’d leave.

Twist would leave, and Cash could get on with his life without worrying about the big idiot.

Strong hands gripped his hip bones and hoisted hip up. He wrapped his legs around Twist’s waist, basking in the look of lust and adoration in Twist’s expression. “You’re really sure?”

“If you don’t fuck me right this second, I’m having you banned from the bar,” Cash growled, and just to be sure, he leaned down and crushed their mouths together, making sure Twist didn’t have the breath or wits to object.

* * *

Hours later (well past the three Twist had paid for, not that Cash was counting) they lay tangled in the sheets. Twist’s body radiated heat like a furnace, rumbling with contentment as he dozed, his arms wrapped protectively around Cash’s chest. Cash stared at him, aching in all the right ways, and suddenly realised he’d made a terrible, terrible mistake. 


End file.
